Green Dwarf
by cgaussie
Summary: Red Dwarf meets Invader Zim in this absurdly insane story line. First chapter's just explaining stuff really, but the madness WILL begin.


[Notes: Yes... Red Dwarf meets Invader Zim... things may be slow now, but don't worry. They pick up. Credits go to Rob Grant and Doug Naylor for creating the idea - without you two men, the word 'Smeg' would not be known.]  
  
**Green Dwarf**  
Written by: Cartman's Girl  
Chapter One: Emily Berkenstein and Pimps  
  
What was the big deal with death anyway? Everyone always went on about how great death was, and how magnificent it'd be once your heart stopped pumping and your lungs stopped taking in oxygen. To go onto that lovely after life - if any, depends on what way you swing don't it? - and to sleep for all eternity. To buy the farm. To kick the bucket. To let the fat lady sing. What was the deal with that? And why did the lady have to be fat? Why couldn't it be a trim slim lady like Barbie? Either way, Melvin was annoyed. He was dead, but he was still here. That didn't make any sense in his brain at all! It's not natural that once you're dead - he died because a fifty ton wrecking ball smashed his head into his body - and suddenly be brought back, technically.  
  
See, when Melvin decided to be a planet miner he knew the risks. Course, he always thought death would happen to somebody else. Like the wormy guy named Kenny or something. But no, he had to slip and that jerk running the machine to hit the 'release' button by accident so he became the first living-dead pancake. When he had joined the Space Patrol Mining Facilities he had been recorded. Yes, recorded. So in the likely event you were killed - no matter how gruesome - they'd re-activate you so you would fill out forms. Legal papers for the Department of Death and Deceased's Rights.  
  
He'd gotten stacks of papers, it made his homework assignments seem like walk in the parks! Course, skimming through the five page pamphlet entitled "Your own Death and how to cope with it" made him even more confused. Then it made sense. It was so his family could go on without him. What a lovely thought. His younger sister would be relishing in having him gone and having his entire room to herself. And his stuff. That made his blood boil, well, the holographic blood anyway. You could tell he was dead due to the large 'H' on the middle of his forehead.  
  
Usually he'd have no problem filling in forms, but he was awaiting the mailing package that contained his birth certificate, photo of his corpse (not a pretty sight mind) with the signature of his coroner and many more useless stuff. And sleeping tonight wasn't easy either. There seemed to be a large party going on below, and that just would not do. Nope, not at all. Course, he couldn't even attempt to threaten people. He was a hologram, duh, meaning he couldn't do or touch anything other then himself. ... aw you're all sick for thinking that! Euw! I didn't need that mental image, yucky yucky smeg smeg!  
  
So Melvin was left to spend the night without sleep. He stood up and trumped over to his view port window. Far far far away to his right was the bright technicolour ball of Saturn, captured by rainbow rings. Looked sort of like that game where you threw hoops over things. Only bigger. And more important. Twelve miles below him, under plexiglass dome of the terraformed colony of Mimas, the party still raged. Melvin's head ache was splitting his skull apart, but he couldn't take anything. He wished he was dead.  
  
"...oh yeah I already am..." he mused quietly to himself. But he didn't know this, but at on the Saturian moon of Mimas which he was presently on, Flight Coordinator Torque Smacky was about to solve all of his problems. How nice of him! So what was Torque doing? He was sat at the Salvador Dali Coffee Lounge of Mimas Hilton. He was trying to work out what the melted clocks meant, and why the one blob had an ear and no mouth yet an eye as well. It made his head hurt, so he just sipped can of Poop Cola. No ice. If it had ice, it would have shown how nervous he was. He was waiting for someone. Who is he waiting for? Man, you readers sure to ask a lot! Who's he, what's he doing, why's he doing it, who're they.. nag nag nag-oh yeah! Back to the story. Sorry.  
  
They were big men. When I say big mean I mean big men. Seven feet tall, all three of them, and they looked pathetic. The men would look more natural taking poses for women in a strip club or for a raunchy calendar. Not wearing black suits and looking like the MiB on steroids. Course, Torque would never say this to them. Unless he wanted a smashed in face, but that wasn't the fashion so he'd rather his face remain in tact and in the same place. They didn't even say hello, and sat down. One of them took up both spaces of the green sofa, and the other two attempted to sit in chairs but it was obviously difficult. The chairs and sofa practically screamed in pain. Torque didn't shake their hands - he might've died of steroid poisoning. Plus he tried to ignore the fact the biggest was holding bolt clippers.  
  
Eventually after fumbling with a suitcase one of the men opened it and handed Torque a stack of papers to be filled in, as well as a pen. Torque explained, as apologetically as he could, that it was really impossible for him to sign the document. To say the least the men were upset. Torque left the Salvador Dali Coffee Lounge of Mimas Hilton, carrying his nose in a napkin. They had not been happy at all.  
  
~*~  
  
Dib grumbled to himself as he was handed what was most probably the smallest tip in the history of the human race, muttered a 'good night' and flicked on the 'For Hire' sign before deciding to take the Hopper down Central and back towards Mimas docks. He attempted to clean his already messy glasses with an equally messy rag, strapped a helmet atop his abnormally large head and slipped the gear into jump. Then he braced himself. The hopper leapt into the air, and landed with a spine-shattering jump. But it only rammed Dib's spine up into the base of his neck - causing his massive headache to grow times ten. Then it jumped again, propelling him another two hundred yards. The suspension on the Hopper was shot to heck.  
  
"Man, why can't I ever steal anything good?!" Dib muttered to himself, as he offend tend to do since he was just sad like that. See, Hoppers had been invented by his suppose 'Father' years ago, to combat the maddening state of congested streets. Up on Mimas, traffic jams lasted weeks on end. People had been known to die of starvation or exhausted from heat or cold in their cars. And Hoppers were just as the name suggested, they hopped. Hopped over traffic jams like grasshoppers or kangaroos. Course, every great idea has it's flaws. Like, maybe being landed and crushed to death by a drunk driven Hopper or colliding in mid-air. Dib had witnessed many of these, and secretively giggled to himself about it.  
  
Dib was now trying to find a place to park, man, good luck. Back on Earth in America people parked where ever possible. In Australia, everywhere NOT possible. But on Mimas, he'd seen people park atop other people. Stacks of cars, and hoppers were a regular sight for the bespectacled boy. Ah, the typical Saturday night on Mimas. The streets were just as busy, lakes of fleashy meat bags of people pushing and shoving their way through the crowds, walking fast and home bound. Or work. Depending. Maybe a brothel. He didn't care. Dib gave up on the park, and decided to head back to the docks.  
  
Eventually Dib found himself with another fare, the boy in the navy-blue officer's coat and the blatantly false moustache had flagged him down and got in. Red and orange shards of hair appeared atop his head near the temples, looked real enough. Course Dib had served people with missing appendages - or told him of missing appendages. Ugh.  
  
"A hundred-and-fifty-second and third." he said curtly and somewhat nervously, his eyes darting around like a spooked squirrel.  
  
"Going to a brothel then?" Dib asked, not that he cared but nobody liked a dumb driver.  
  
"What? No! I'm an Officer in the Space Corps-" with saying so he tapped the stars on his shoulder, "-and I, I wouldn't dare even enter one!" Dib shrugged, hitting the 'Hired' sign.  
  
"I just thought, you know going to one hundred-and-fifty-second and third... that's right in the middle of red light." Dib mused, more to himself then to his fare.  
  
"Yeah well... you're just paid to drive." the boy was obviously shaken with the discussion, so Dib dropped it. So the Hopper bounced off - if you can call it bouncing - towards the district the locals called 'Shag Town'. On the first landing, the Officer's moustache was almost jolted clear off his face.  
  
"What's wrong with this thing?!"  
  
"It's the roads." Dib lied. A red light flashed, and they stopped. At right angles to them - in other words driving in front - a herd of Hoppers leapt past. "So what's it like?" Dib asked, since he couldn't get the radio to work in the Hopper either.  
  
"What's what like?"  
  
"Being in the Space Corps. Being an astro." Dib glanced back at the boy, seemed he had forgotten to remove the ID which shown an image of some elderly stinky man instead of the large headed glass wearing driver the Hopper now held, "I was sort of thinking of signing up."   
  
"Were you really?" Dib could just sense the contempt.  
  
"Do you need qualifications?" Dib asked.  
  
"Well, no not really... but they don't just accept any old body. So I doubt they'd let you in. Your head's so big."  
  
"My head's not big!" Dib eventually found the fare-enhancer button concealed under the dashboard of the hopping taxi, and added a few dollars to the fare. And thus conversation was made impossible. Now you're probably wondering what a boy like Dib was doing in a place like this. Sad thing was, Dib didn't really know. It had started like any ordinary Skool day for the boy, and was at lunch when he drank his can of Poop Cola. It didn't taste right, but he sipped it again. He found it oddly nice, even if it tasted like it was poured out of someone's old boot. He remembered his sister telling him it was going to rain so he'd better to find her umbrella in the coat racks. He had staggered out of the Cafeteria and woke up three months later on one of Saturn's moons in a Bloaty's Pizza Hog station wearing a pink dress and having no money and a passport under the name of Emily Berkenstein. He'd guessed the Poop Cola had some kind of beer or achololic substance in it, so when Dib got drunk, he got drrrr-unk. Eventually the Hopper came to a crunching halt on the corner of a hundred-and-fifty-second and third. Outside one building was a neon light sparking "Girls, Girls, Girls".  
  
"I heard there are some great restaurants offering authentic Mimas cuisine." the boy in the navy-blue jacket and surreptitiously re-gluing his moustache said. Dib rolled his eyes to himself, then turned his head to his fare.  
  
"Look, d'you want me to wait for you?" Dib didn't really feel like ruining his spine anymore then he normally did, "I don't mind waiting." The Officer glanced out the window at some badly dressed pimps on the street. Obvious weaponry poked out of their jackets. Or were they just happy to see each other? Who knew.  
  
"Um... sure, wait around the corner."  
  
"How long'll you be?" the Officer paused, thinking it over.  
  
"Twenty minutes." Dib took the Hopper around the corner and watched his fare walk out and glance over a menu of a restaurant - then walked right into the building marked 'Girls, Girls, Girls'. Dib smirked and shook his head, then quickly locked the door. He didn't feel safe in this area at all, gun toting pimps and robbers were the norm. He hated the moon with a vengeance. And his family hadn't even attempted to find him. Even if they did try they wouldn't, seeing how he didn't technically exist on this planet. Emily Berkenstein did. That also made getting a job difficult. To get a job you needed a passport. Legally he was a woman named Emily, not a boy named Dib. So, he'd attempted to solve his money problem by stealing taxi Hoppers. He'd hang around the taxi Hopper ranks and wait for drivers to leave, and steal the last one in line. Then he'd take his business around to the seedier parts, where police never went. Now, if he was a real business man Dib would have been off Mimas within a month. But he'd been here four months now; and any money he did get he'd end up spending on necessities. Like food, water, decent underwear, hair gel... the usual. Outside on his window shield, one of the pimps ears suddenly plopped down. The two pimps were now fighting over some slight disagreement, some gal named Miz. Or something, he didn't hear. Might have been Maz. Dib decided now was a better time then any to read the A to Z of Mimas with such fierce concentration. He was only half aware of the Hopper rocking from side to side as the battling pimps rolled on it's bonnet. Eventually a larger ear joined the smaller one on Dib's windshield. He glanced at it, and sighed.  
  
"Aw man it's raining ears again..." he turned on the window wipers and washers and soon the ears, and pimps, were gone. Ah Saturdays. They were crazy, out of control... more so then usual. So much so that an extra Sunday had been invented.  You needed the two Sundays to recover from the one Saturday. Dib suddenly became aware of the time, and realised a good hour had passed. His fare must be enjoying his meal. He sighed heavily, pulled his black torn jacket over his blue shirt and got out of the Hopper. He clicked the internal lock key ring and stepped over a tall dead one eared pimp, and entered the 'Girls, Girls, Girls'.  
  
[_To be continued! What is the Officer up to? What has Melvin and Torque got to do with anything? Will Dib's windshield ever get the blood of? Tune in next time for the next exciting episode of GREEN DWARF!]_


End file.
